


trash-talk

by lessthansweet



Category: Blur (Band), Oasis (Band)
Genre: M/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension, i guess, literally just them chatting shit, not that it matters lmao, set around 1995, what is plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-17 01:33:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28716567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lessthansweet/pseuds/lessthansweet
Summary: Liam stares at him. “You look like shit.”“Thanks,” Damon replies dryly. He turns back to nurse his drink. “Same goes to you.”or just Liam bugging Damon in a pub.
Relationships: Damon Albarn/Liam Gallagher
Comments: 8
Kudos: 37





	trash-talk

**Author's Note:**

> unbetaed. wrote this in 30 mins because I rather ignore all of my unfinished projects instead of finishing them and there is no better excuse than to write a plotless fic of two socially inept men who 1) kept slagging the other on twitter and 2) needed the other to call him first before considering a collab. enjoy <3

“Hello, Damon.”

Not even in death Damon would admit to recognizing that voice everywhere. On the telly. On the radio. On the cramped pub he sneaked inside to escape the teeth-gritting frustration of disagreements. He schools his face into less of a grimace and turns to greet his new companion. “Hello, Liam.”

He has to take a step back to put an appropriate distance between them. Liam has an interesting lack of respect for personal space, standing so close until Damon can smell the smoke and booze and count the thick eyelashes framing his eyes. There is a word for it—to describe Liam—but that one also goes to the list of things Damon would never let himself admitting. It’s quite a long list.

Liam stares at him. “You look like shit.”

“Thanks,” Damon replies dryly. He turns back to nurse his drink. “Same goes to you.”

“Nah, mate. I’m good.” Liam brings a cigarette to his lips, taking a drag and breathing out the smoke quickly. He looks at ease in the fast-moving atmosphere of the pub and the effortless of it irks Damon a bit. “Just need to kill some time ‘til I can get back to my room.”

Damon mulls it over for a bit. “Why?”

“The chief kicked us out.”

“Noel?” Liam only scowls so Damon knows he guessed right. Not that he likes the other half of the Gallagher brothers more than the one now bugging him uninvited but if he were to pick a side he’ll pick Noel’s. God knows how many times Damon had fantasized about kicking Alex on the teeth when he just _wouldn’t_ shut up. He chuckles.

Liam groans. “Of course you’re one of those assholes with a stick up their arse, aren’t you?”

“You bet.”

“It shows.”

“What do you mean?”

“On your songs. They were shit.”

“Shit.” Damon turns around again, now facing the younger man. He still isn’t sure whether Liam is serious or just messing with him. There is no heat in his voice but Damon wouldn’t put it past Liam to throw around insults as easy as breathing. “What do you mean, shit?”

“Well,” Liam starts, eyes glued closely against Damon’s. “Just like…shit. Your gigs are fucking shit as well.”

“How are they even correlate to me having a stick up my arse?”

Liam shrugs. “You just came off as trying too fucking hard, you know?”

That’s rich coming from a man who stood still in front of his mic stand for almost the entirety of his gig. Damon feels like he shouldn’t take Liam’s words too seriously. Well, he tries to but the pang of insecurity is certainly there. He straightens himself to his full height, looming over the other man like it makes any difference at all. “I think your album’s shit as well.”

Liam raises his eyebrows. “Too rock ‘n roll for your silly little pop band?”

“Too boring.”

The younger man looks taken aback by that, clearly not expecting him to bite back. Damon feels something unraveled in his chest; a day worth of frustration slowly loosening and letting him breathe again. Not for long, though. At least until Liam eventually breaks his nose with a fist.

 _That wouldn’t be a bad thing_ , his brain helpfully supplies. At some point in life when monotony starts fucking with your head having your ass kicked finally sounds appealing enough _._ Liam is a bit smaller than him and Damon would rather have literally anyone else doing it but oh well, he’d do. That’ll get people talking; _poor lad, that cunt from oasis ruptured his appendix._

But Liam laughs instead. Damon stares at him.

“Nice,” Liam says when his laugh finally subsides. He takes a drag from his cigarette, turning away to tap it into an ashtray but Damon catches his eyes twinkling. “Shit take but I’ll allow that. Just don’t let Noel hears you.”

“Or what?”

“ _Or what_? Easy, tiger, are you gonna take him on?”

Liam is still smiling. Damon feels bold tonight, or maybe he’s just running out of shit to give. “That couldn’t be too hard.”

“You’ve never seen him pissed.”

“He’s three feet tall.”

“Fine, then go piss him off.”

“Wouldn’t need to. He hates me already.”

“Yeah because you’re a fucking twat, twat.”

“Then why are you here?”

Liam opens his mouth to snark back but he stops. “What do you mean?”

He looks genuinely gobsmacked and Damon doesn’t understand why. “Why are you here talking with me if I’m a twat?”

Liam frowns, turning his head to look at Damon. “Well, you’re a twat but I don’t hate you.”

“You sure acted like it.”

“Oh, come on.” Liam rolls his eyes. Then he reaches out and pinches Damon’s side. _Hard._

Damon isn’t prepared for it. He lets out a high pitched squeal, flinching away from Liam’s offending fingers. “Ow! Fuck off—” 

“I was joking. Stop crying about it.”

“About what?” Damon grits his teeth, rubbing the sore spot on his side. “ _This,_ or you slagging me off on public every other day?”

“Both.” Liam grins, breathing out smoke to Damon’s face. “Thought you’ve got thicker skin than this, Albarn, since everyone seems to have a go at you nowadays.”

He reaches out again, slower this time but Damon has too much pride to flee his assault. He doesn’t look down to see where Liam’s hand is heading but soon he feels it brushing against his own hand—still clutching protectively on his side—and stays next to it, his thumb rubbing the stinging spot through Damon’s clothes.

Damon grows still, feeling his brain shortcircuiting. He opens his mouth to say something, anything, but closes it again when he realizes he has nothing to say.

Liam beats him to it at last, seemingly not noticing Damon standing still as a rock next to him. “Well deserved, though. Sometimes you did come off like a little prick.”

It’s a funny contradiction; what he said and what he did. Damon shifts, placing both of his hands on the table but Liam’s hand stays where it is. He could move it, he supposes, grab it and pull it away but he doesn’t.

Instead, he pushes on and braces himself. “Yeah but you like pricks, don’t you?”

Liam blinks owlishly, his thumb stops moving and just _stays_ there. Unmoving. Damon can’t explain to save his own life why Liam putting his hand there bothering him so much. Or—or maybe he can, but wouldn’t. Another one for the list.

Then Liam is on him, invading the space between them that Damon had painstakingly created. Chapped lips brush his ear and blunt nails sink into his skin and a laugh that smells like cigarettes sends a shiver down his fucking spine. “Takes one to know one.”

Shit.

Liam pulls away; all of him. His lips and his hand. It takes Damon a long stretch of seconds to comprehend that he must have gone on his tippy toes to reach Damon’s height. On any other circumstances, it would be funny. Yet now Liam is the only one looking smug, looking at him like he has Damon figured out. Which he did. Not all of him, but a part of him that Damon wouldn’t even dream of letting him guessed right. Which he just did.

Damon has to look away. Even then he can still feel Liam’s eyes boring a hole on the side of his face. He fidgets; hair prickling the back of his neck, heart beating a little too fast. Liam was messing with him, right? He still feels like he needs to defend himself. “Listen...”

“I’m listening.” Liam drawls, his smirk is highly punchable. Something about it makes Damon’s tongue lays limp in his mouth. “Well? Cat got your tongue?”

“Shut up.” Damon snaps, face burning. “Just…just…jesus christ, Liam.”

“Just Liam is fine.”

“You’re fucking insufferable.”

“So are you, posh cunt. You’re not special just because you like snogging boys.”

Damon falls silent. “What do you mean?”

Liam sucks on the last of his cigarette, full lips wrapped around the butt. Damon stares at them, feeling like he starts getting the faintest idea of what Liam actually meant. He watches Liam stubbing it to his ashtray just so the younger man wouldn’t think he stared at something else.

“They’re just fucking lips, Albarn.” Liam snorts. “Like, if I were to snog you this instance that would be because you have lips, not because I think you’re pretty or some shit.”

That almost hurts if he doesn’t know Liam any better. Damon raises his eyebrows. “So you’ve been thinking of snogging me?”

Liam’s eyes glance up at his lips; heavy beneath the thick set of his eyelashes. “Yeah.”

Damon licks his lips. He can’t help it. “And it’s not because I’m pretty?”

“No.” Liam sets his jaw. But to Damon’s disbelief, he seems to reconsider his answer. “I mean, you’re not ugly. But you’re not pretty. I _am_ pretty.”

He’s not disagreeing but Damon wouldn’t openly agree with him. So he leaves it at that. “Okay, thanks.”

Liam frowns instead like he’s not liking the direction their conversation is heading. “Yeah.”

He’s pretty. Damon has it on the tip of his tongue but he can’t bring himself to say anything. He swallows it back and lets awkward silence fills the absence of words. Fucking hell.

“Well, I’m going.” He says eventually, draining what’s left of his drink in one go.

Liam is staring at him again. “To your friends?”

Damon contemplates it. “No.” He sucks on his teeth. “They’re sick of me so I’ll give them a break. I’m going to bed.”

He doesn’t stop to think about the implication of what he just said. Liam might interpret it as an invitation, or he’d just rolled his eyes and called Damon a bore. He’s fishing for his wallet when he feels Liam steps closer to him. “Can I go with you?”

 _To bed?_ He thinks, amused, but for the first time that night Liam looks nervous. How old is he again? Couldn’t be older than twenty-three. Twenty-two, maybe. Shot to fame and knows little to nothing of anything else. He’s almost endearing when you think of him that way.

“I can’t see why not.” Damon slides his wallet out, meeting Liam’s eyes again. There he goes once again, disrespecting his personal space. “What are you going to do in my place?”

Liam takes his wrist, holding it loosely. Damon lets him, watching Liam’s eyes watching him, feeling him rubbing the inside of his wrist. “I told you I was thinking of snogging you.”

His stomach turns. In a good way. Damon thinks he handles himself well but his voice still shakes a bit when he speaks. “Because I’m available?”

Liam drops his hand and, finally, rolls his eyes. “Because you’re pretty, asswipe. Don’t fucking test me.”


End file.
